


Alleviate

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [283]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternative Meeting, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 07:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11846706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: alleviate: verb: uh-LEE-vee-ayt : to lessen, relieve, to make bearablefrom Merriam-Webster:"Alleviate derives from the past participle of Late Latin alleviare ("to lighten or relieve"), which in turn was formed by combining the prefix ad- and the adjective levis, a Latin word meaning "having little weight," which also gave rise to the adjective light (as in "not heavy") in English. We acquired alleviate in the 15th century, and for the first few centuries the word could mean either "to cause (something) to have less weight" or "to make (something) more tolerable." The literal "make lighter" sense is no longer used, however, and today we have only the "relieve" sense. Incidentally, not only is alleviate a synonym of relieve, it's also a cousin; relieve comes from levare ("to raise"), which in turn comes from levis."





	1. Chapter 1

He had taken the job to alleviate the mind-numbing boredom, and the location of the coffee shop, the closest one to New Scotland Yard, didn't hurt. He had become quite adept at determining what a customer would drink before they asked for it, but usually kept his counsel, until John Watson walked through the door. 

Sherlock's mind whirred and for once his inner running dialogue escaped. "Iraq...no Afghanistan...doctor...joined medical corps after girlfriend left...mmmm....no...it was a boyf - oh. Damn." He covered his mouth and shook his head, but was relieved when the small, but well-built man in front of him gave him a brief nod.

"Very good, bet you're good fun at parties. Just a -"

Sherlock moved his hand from his mouth and whispered, "black coffee, dark roast. You should have a scone, they are fresh for once." He clapped his hand over his mouth once again and rolled his eyes somewhat apologetically.

"Yeah, actually, a scone sounds good for once." He eyed Sherlock for a long moment, then smiled. "I bet you can tell the ending of a whodunit in the first paragraph of the first chapter - hmm?"

Sherlock was stunned, no one smiled at him, especially no one - "No, usually the author gives it away by the title...or the illustrator gives it away - ah. " He noticed the man in front of him carried a walking stick in his right hand, and a well-worn novel in his jacket pocket - his right hand pocket, watch on his right hand..."Coffee. Black. Scone - still warm, some days you get lucky."

The doctor/soldier smiled at him again and whispered, "yeah, sometimes you do..." He picked up the bag and coffee then slowly made his way to the corner table, the darkest part of the shop. Odd choice if one wants to read. Sherlock kept on eye on him as the morning went on, and realized he had chosen that table, because it was nearest the a/c vent, and it kept him from having to deal with other customers, he was essentially hidden from view...and yet when Sherlock glanced at him once, he knew he had been observed, from the blush on the doctor's cheeks. Beauti- damn it. Sherlock blinked as he felt his own face heat up and turned away before anyone noticed. When he turned back, the man was gone. Damn. At least he cleaned up his table, Sherlock mused, as he walked over, kneeling down to pick up a piece of paper that must have fallen from his book.

 

You were right about the scone, best I've had since my nana's. Coffee was good too. - J.H. Watson, MD formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.

 

Sherlock felt his hand shake as he read the paper once, then twice and was unable to move until the bell on the door jangled.

"Sorry, I, forgot my stick, not sure how - I usually can't go very far without -"

"Psychosomatic - damn - it's the way you were standing as you ordered - and it was your shoulder - hmmm... left, that got you very honourably discharged, you were injured protecting the man you were working on, he didn't survive, unfortunately, and you feel guilt over that - but you know he was bleeding out - and yet. I don't - I can't stop - usually I can keep my deductions to myself - but you -" Sherlock held out his hand, hoping J.H. didn't notice it was trembling. "Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, well, I will be someday, until then I work here so my brother will stop offering me a job in the Diplomatic Corps."

"John."

"John. Do you eat Italian? My shift is over - and -"

John grinned as he took Sherlock's hand in his. "Yes. You are quite the renaissance man, barista, nearly a detective, violinist and chemist, if I'm not mistaken?"

Sherlock, blinked at him for a brief moment, then nodded and whispered, "my flat isn't far - we can order in?"

"I love takeaway - has anyone ever told you - I don't do this-"

"I don't either."

"I can see the universe in your eyes."

Sherlock's jaw dropped as John reached up and laid his hand gingerly in Sherlock's hair and drew his face down into a gentle kiss.

"Thai or Chinese?" Sherlock managed to mumble against John's grinning lips.


	2. Chapter 2

As John was in the tiny loo in Sherlock's tiny flat on Montague, Sherlock pulled out his mobile and groaned.

 

A bit forward, isn't he? - M

Bugger off. Seriously Myc. Just turn off the feed for tonight? - S

And the audio. - S

He's different, Myc. - S

And absolutely NO kidnapping this one. - S

 

In a dark bunker well below city level, Mycroft Holmes sighed as he closed his eyes. Doctor. Soldier. PTSD ...brother had been out of rehab for half a year... the last one had nearly killed him.

 

Very well. If - M

Yes. I know. Thanks Myc. - S

Now, please? I'll know if anything is on, so no tricks, please. - S

Done. Carry on - Just be careful. - M

I will. - S

 

Sherlock turned off his mobile and looked over to see John standing in front of him. Strongly built, in his late thirties, ash blond slowly turning silver - nothing but a t shirt and - damn...red pants.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just a busybody brother who worries a bit overly much."

"If I break your heart, no one will find the body - that kind of 'overly much'?"

"Even so."

Sherlock got up from his too small bed and walked through his stacks of books to get to the man who leaned against the doorframe. He slowly unbuttoned the deep aubergine shirt, and smiled a bit as he watched John's already indigo eyes grow improbably darker, and heard his breath change as he undid his cuffs and let the shirt stay where it dropped from his fingers.

"You're stunning."

"There are things you should know -"

"You have protection? You've been clean a few months, yes?"

Sherlock nodded as John slowly lifted his shirt. Sherlock laid a hand on his chest, stopping him. "Don't. if you aren't ready - I don't need to see."

John bit his lip and nodded. "I want to. I need you to - you have to understand -"

Sherlock removed his hand and took a step back, watching him carefully, taking a sharp breath in when John threw his shirt on a nearby chair. "May I?"

John closed his eyes and whispered, "yes."

Sherlock once again stepped closer and pressed his lips to the very center of the damage, his hand slipped to John's hip as he felt John shiver at the touch. "Sher - mmm -"

"Too much?" Sherlock mumbled.

"No - it's just that no one - you are the first - may I kiss you again, please?"

Sherlock smiled against John's shoulder, then stood up and looked down into John's eyes. "Please."

John threaded his trembling fingers into Sherlock's curls, tugging just enough to bring him close enough. "You are a remarkable human being, Sherlock Holmes." Then he kissed him, and Sherlock's brain shut down, just simply stopped, everything became focused into this one moment, John's fingers in his hair, the slight pull sending a shockwave through him, the warmth of John's lips and just the slightest touch of his tongue. He tried to keep his eyes open, he needed to see, but he was lost to the sensations of the man who was slowly bringing them down to the faded carpet that covered the cement floor of his basement flat.

He opened his eyes a moment later to see John peering down at him. "There you are. Thought I killed you for a moment."

"No. Uhm, just, you could do that again - that - uhm kissing thing - whatever it was -"

John's eyes twinkled at him. "I think you promised me some takeaway? Pad Thai? Prawns? And those Spring Rolls..."

"Kiss me one more time and I'll order you one of everything, Dr. Watson."

 

Sherlock opened his eyes and adjusted to the darkness. He reached for his phone. Eight o'clock already. He knew his brother - knew his patience - and sighed as he kissed John's hair.

 

I'm going to need a bigger flat. - S

How about Mrs. Hudson's place, second floor, but good light, enough room for all of your books, two bedrooms if you need them. - M

Second bedroom won't be necessary. - S

Good. Very good, brother mine; can have your things moved over tomorrow. - M

No cameras this time? - S

I'll consider it. - M

Thank you, Myc. - S

 

Mycroft closed his eyes, and blew out the breath he had been holding. "Good luck, brother mine."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter...

Sherlock was already at Baker Street, pacing in front of the door when John's cab pulled up. He grabbed his duffel, tossed the cabbie a couple of notes and pushed himself out onto the curb. He watched Sherlock for a moment, and tried to determine what it was exactly about the tall - but not terribly so, thin, rather needed feeding up, elegant man when said man turned to face him, eyes flashing at him. That. The green eyes, full of humour, intelligence and for a moment, a trace of doubt before they settled on John and smiled. And the smile -damn.

"Almost thought you wouldn't show - I -" Sherlock took a deep breath, then let it go.

"Are you kidding, knowing what I know about your brother?" John smiled at him, then rolled his eyes. "You think last night - did I do anything to make you think - that last night wasn't the best thing - that you aren't the best thing that has ever happened to me? God - someone - hurt you - I'm sorry, Sherlock. Just know, when I say something to you, when I make you a promise -"

"Mr. Holmes? Your things were sent over, earlier today - ." Mrs. Hudson smiled, internally giggling over how Mrs. Turner was going to take her news at tea tomorrow.

"Sherlock, please. My brother - he's 'Mr. Holmes.' And this is my -" Sherlock froze, not knowing what exactly to call the man next to him.

"I am his partner - John Watson." John flashed the landlady a charming smile and threaded his fingers with Sherlock's, giving them a gentle squeeze.

"Oh, how lovely, come in, boys, come in, now, just so you understand, I am not your housekeeper - I will do shopping on occasion and I do a rather nice tea - but - other than that, I believe it's best to leave people to themselves." She watched a bit anxiously as John hesitated before climbing the steps.

"It's fine - just a dodgy knee, Mrs. Hudson, no worries." Sherlock followed after him, letting John take his time. 

John opened the door to the flat and nodded. "Perfect, this is just lovely, Mrs. Hudson, just perfect. Sherlock? All these books? Yours?"

Sherlock grinned. "They were in storage - oh, Mycroft even sent Billy -" He went over to the mantelpiece and picked up a skull, as far as John could tell, a real one, adult. Life was going to be at least more interesting from now on, John reflected as he dropped into an overstuffed chair. It seemed to mold around him - as if. Nope. He didn't believe in fate or other silliness. He picked up the paper and looked at the headlines.

"Sherlock - have you been keeping up with this - these serial suicides? But - how can there be serial suicides?"

"Same drug, victims are found in places they never frequented, no notes... no evidence anyone was with them, at least from what I've read in the paper - I have a theory - sent a text to Lestrade, I think it's a cabbie." Sherlock pointed to a photograph of a rather worried DI. "Never a good sign when a leading detective makes the front page. Lestrade's an espresso man, comes in a few times a day, gets a shot and a roll, mumbles about cases at me. I've given him leads on a few, but I've never been invited to a crime scene. Maybe someday -"

They all turned as they heard heavy steps fly up the stairs. "Sherlock - took me ages to find you - the case - the one you texted me about early this morning?" John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock, but made no comment. "We got another one, four now. And -"

"There's something different about this one."

"She left a note. Will you come?"

"We'll follow in a taxi. Just text me the address."

"Who's he?" Lestrade nodded at John.

"He's with me."

"But - oh bloody hell, I can use all the people I can get on this one. Just, uhm, try - this is your first crime scene - try not to - I know how you feel about most of us 'morons' but try - "

"Not to antagonize anyone?" Sherlock sighed, but nodded. "I will do my best, DI Lestrade."

"Thank you. Gotta get back." Lestrade flew down the stairs and banged the street door behind him.

John laid the paper down and watched as Sherlock's face transformed. 

"John - a real case - and not just any case - it's a serial killer - I know it - he's finally made a mistake." He pulled out his mobile as it pinged and glanced at it. "Brixton. Come on, John, you're an Army Doctor - any good?"

"Very good."

Sherlock nodded with a smile that could light up London all on its own. "Don't wait up, Mrs. Hudson. We'll be late."


End file.
